There are days I feel like I am beating my head against a brick wall of lies, and people just don’t give a damn about the reality of what is happening in Puerto Rico. The 11-month anniversary of Hurricane Maria smashing through the islands has come and gone this week, and the headlines here on the mainland blared that full power had been restored to the island, complete with “exclusive” interviews with the “last family to finally get power.”
All of this hoopla is essentially a crock of bullshit.
If I wasn’t on the phone every day with Daily Kos blogger Chef Bobby Neary, who is in the capital city of San Juan, I’d probably fall for this crap, too.
Bobby has been tweeting at reporters about a man he knows who does not have power. He has offered to give them Don Feliberto’s phone number, or to take them to see him and his neighbors. So far, they haven’t bothered to pay attention
I ask Bobby every day, “Do Don Feliberto, and his neighbors have power yet?” Every day, the answer is NO.
Don Feliberto has become a symbol of all that is wrong with mainstream media coverage of Puerto Rico. Regular readers of Daily Kos have seen his face before. They know his story. They have chipped in to get him a bed, a generator, clean clothing, a roof on his house, and a phone. He got approved for funds from FEMA months ago.
The check has not yet arrived.
Here’s a brief recap. In January, Bobby wrote:
Don Feliberto is seventy-three years old and lives alone with his cat, Rayos, in the home he has loved for the past 60 years. I still don’t know how he survived the hurricane in that house as the eye passed directly over his head. He’s lost every possession he once had, all sucked out when the winds ripped off his roof, and he remains without power or water since the beginning of this crisis. When we arrived the only food he had was a single box of rations that FEMA has just delivered to him the previous day and 2 unopened cases of bottled water. The neglect of so many lives on this island is almost unbearable.
The most amazing thing, however, was that he was still in good spirits and greeted us with a huge smile, welcoming two complete strangers into what was left of his home
He followed up in February:
In the past four-and-a-half months Don Feliberto has only had two visits by the city work crew and one by FEMA. He has no working phone and has been completely cut off with no communication — it took us a good half-hour to convince him it was Thursday and not Monday. He had no idea what time of day it was and it even took him a few minutes to remember his own birthday. I can’t even begin to imagine what it’s been like for him, a senior citizen with multiple health problems surviving on his own for four-and-a-half-months in the dark. Constantly running through my head was, “this could be my parents, my grandparents” and I was devastated and furious at the same time. For as long as I live I’ll never forget when he finally broke down and it all came pouring out.
Soon after he had light, thanks to a generator provided by readers of Bobby’s story.
There’s really no way to convey Don Feliberto’s reaction once he realized what we brought him. First he scolded us for making the trip in a torrential downpour and fog so thick we could barely see our hands in front of our faces. Even in his desperate circumstances he was more worried about our safety than his own. We all ran from the car into the house and waited until late in the afternoon before the rain and fog finally let up enough for us to unload the truck.
To say he was overcome with emotion is an understatement. All he could do was grab the top of his head and rock back and forth in shock. Through a flood of tears he expressed his disbelief when Gerardo and I hauled in the generator box.
Meanwhile, while writing this piece today, I got a text from Bobby. His power was out—again. The stop light on his corner, though brand new, still does not work.
I’m only a three-hour flight away from Puerto Rico this morning. I’m sitting under a tarp in the pouring rain in Hialeah, Florida. The tarp is leaking, which is annoying, But I can get up and go inside and stay dry. If I were in Puerto Rico the tarp might be my roof, and there would be no dry inside to escape to.
I’m angry and frustrated because it doesn’t take a whole lot of effort for mainland journalists to do a better job of reporting what is really going on in Puerto Rico. Most have simply become regurgitators of Puerto Rican government press releases.
I am keeping an eye on Twitter as I write. Hawaii is now facing a Category 5 hurricane, like Maria. Will it suffer the same fate as Puerto Rico?
In just a few weeks, a year will have passed since Maria. Plans are underway for protests and memorials. I’m hoping that people will pay attention—and get involved.
Pa’lante, Puerto Rico.